When I got my hair cut the other day, some bimbo came into the salon with her damned dog in tow. This bothers me immensely, as it’s friggin’ illegal. Because she – the bimbo – insists on having a pet as a fashion accessory, she puts others in the awkward position of having to ask her to respect health codes, not to mention the other friggin’ clients. I know people with severe dog and cat allergies. They shouldn’t have to grab their over-priced epi-pens at the grocery store or at a salon. The bimbo I witnessed behaving like an entitled celebrity was definitely a celebri-not. My god. I felt so sorry for the person working on her hair, as he had to maneuver around her heart-shaped sunglasses, which she refused to remove. For the record, she didn’t come in wearing the sunglasses, and absolutely no one recognized her because she was just a chick. A rude chick.


Don’t get me wrong on the dog front. I like pets just fine. Visiting the pets of friends is darling, not to mention good for the soul. But there are rules, numb-nuts. How about you come down to earth with the rest of us and have a little respect. Damn.


I should be used to such behavior. I see it all the time in L.A. And it’s always eye-roll inducing. But I’m not used to it. And with very few exceptions, the only people who behave like entitled assholes are wanna-be jerks. Real people who’ve “made it” are generally regular folk. At least that’s been my experience. The problem is there are more celebri-nots than there are celebrities.


In honor of the legit stars, I offer you a photo taken during a major celebrity sighting…



That’s right. “Little Sebastian” of Parks and Recreation fame. I was honored to meet the little guy. And for the record, he could not have been more gracious and humble. The bimbos of Hollywood could learn a thing or two from his professional demeanor.

Dancing In The Street



Mister and I were walking through Hollywood and I saw the scene shown above. I don’t know the purpose or meaning of all those old ballet shoes, but it was cool. And unexpected.


Walking through the city, I frequently come across street art. Sadly, I rarely take the time to photograph what I see. Sadder still, I don’t often slow down enough to really engage with the art or the scene. And that’s unfortunate. Art is all around. I love that about the city. When I don’t take the time to see it, I think I’m really missing out. Art feeds the soul. It certainly feeds my soul, at least.


Maybe those ballet shoes can represent a turning point for me. Maybe I can start paying attention to the art that lives all around me. It’s a good idea…

Almost Perfect



You ever have one of those nights where the stars align? Where you find yourself with plans to beat all plans?



Over the weekend, Mister and I went to dinner at a less than a year old joint called Birch. Located in Hollywood, it’s across the street from the Hotel Cafe, where Mister and I were slated to see a show that night. For those of you who aren’t local, let me tell you how thrilled we were to know we could simply park once, instead of shuffling around and searching for multiple, elusive spots. The night was looking good.



So we got to Birch for our rezzie and I admit, we were pretty excited. There’s been a lot of amazing press for the British chef running this place, Brendan Collins. And based on our visit, he deserves each and every accolade. We tried a variety of dishes and all were memorable. Honestly, everything we tried was aces – and then some. Unfortunately, when I made the reservation on Open Table, they listed the restaurant as being a “tapas” scene, so Mister and I over-ordered, thinking we were getting small plates. But we did not get small plates. We got full servings of beautiful, fabulous food. And before we knew it, we’d eaten all of it and it was so, so good and each morsel led to oooos and aaaahs and we were already talking about coming back and maybe we could hit the Sunday Roast and isn’t that good and what a surprise this is and oh my goodness – my pants are too tight. Phew! To our credit, we did resist ordering dessert (and I really, really wanted to try that Skillet Toffee Pudding). We finished dinner and waddled across the street, saying in one breath how great our dinner had been, and in the very next breath saying how bloated we were.



We got to The Hotel Cafe with a few minutes to spare before our friends in Sweet Talk Radio took the stage. This talented duo bring such beautiful entertainment to their fans, and they’re wonderful human beings to boot. So Mister and I were super-enjoying the concert, as we expected, when I started to feel a little warm and thought I should step outside. When I reached the lobby, I saw the ladies room across the way and headed toward it. I felt woozy, which was odd, as I wasn’t drunk. I tried to make it to the door, one slow step at a time. When I finally placed my hand on the door, it was locked. I leaned against the adjacent wall and tried to focus my vision. And that’s when I started to fall. I slid down the wall and hit the floor. I looked around and saw other club-goers, drinking and chatting. And that was it. I fainted. Next thing I knew, 3 employees were talking to me and asking if I was okay. I remember saying I was really hot and dizzy. The chick asked if I needed to use the restroom and I said yes. She told me to keep the door unlocked, in case she needed to come in and check on me. I obeyed and somehow managed to navigate that process without falling down. When I left the ladies room, I was escorted over to a seat and given some water. To their credit, the folks at Hotel Cafe were just swell. I sat for only a few minutes, under their watchful eyes, and then Mister came out and freaked a little bit before helping me to the car and driving me home.


I can’t remember the last time I fainted before this. It’s simply not a common occurrence. I also can’t remember the last time I was so stuffed I needed Oompa Loompas to roll me to the juicing room. It was crazy. And perfect. Almost perfect, that is.


You ever have one of those nights where the stars align? Where you find yourself with plans to beat all plans? And have you ever had a single star that refused to get in line, refused to cooperate? That was how our night went. And it was almost perfect.




Sometimes I actually remember to look around at the beauty all around me. That happened recently while driving through an alley in Hollywood. An alley! I turned my head and spotted a beautiful gate. I love the pattern, featuring curves and birds. Something about it makes me happy.


And to think – I nearly missed it.




Yesterday Mr. Leonard Nimoy passed from this planet.


There was so much more to this man than “Mr. Spock.” Though “Mr. Spock” would have been enough! As a kid, I loved Star Trek and was a junkie for the syndicated episodes. Sometimes I still watch, albeit from a different (aged) perspective. And to this day, “Mr. Spock” is still my favorite character. There was just something about his left-brain approach to everything, paired with just a tinge of humanity, for lack of a better word. His curiosity made sense to my kid-mind. Which leads me to another reason I loved Mr. Nimoy…


In Search Of…  I didn’t like this show. I loved, loved, loved it! Each episode promised something trippy and cool, and I couldn’t get enough. Being a poor kid in rural Georgia, I had little exposure to things such as The Bermuda Triangle, Jack the Ripper or The Dead Sea Scrolls. In Search Of… gave me an introduction to places and ideas I never could have imagined. (This was loooooonnnnng before the interwebz, y’all.) And hosting each of the episodes? Mr. Nimoy.


It’s funny. The day before Mr. Nimoy’s death, I was driving through Hollywood and passed a prop house. In its parking lot were 2 life-sized statues constructed to look like those on Easter Island. As I navigated traffic, my mind drifted to the first time I ever heard of the Polynesian locale – on an episode of In Search Of…


The world is a fabulous criss-cross, multi-dimensional, out-of-control puzzle. And to my thinking, it has been a better place because of the existence of Mr. Leonard Nimoy.


May we all live long and prosper.

There Has To Be A Morning After…



Today is back-to-reality day. The Oscars have ended and Hollywood can get back to being Holly-weird. As it should be.


Though I am merely a schmo-ette and haven’t been to the big dance myself, it’s always fun to spot folks I actually know at the Oscars. Real people. Who knew?


So I will take care of some bid-ness today and reacquaint myself with my little world. It’s a fairly cool place. Granted – there are mere mortals populating my environs, but those folks are pretty danged awesome. The real world rules.

Stellar Afternoon at the Movies



Mister and I went to see “Insterstellar” a couple of weekends ago at the Chinese Theatre in Hollywood. But this post isn’t about the movie.


We had pre-purchased seats for the IMAX showing and all was going well. Found the seats, took a load off and pretty soon the movie began. There were no trailers before this viewing, so the action kicked right in. And just as it did, a theatre representative approached us and said he needed our seats for a disabled party of viewers and he’d be happy to re-seat us elsewhere.



Okay. We’re not seat snobs or anything, but we do have preferences as to where we like to sit at the movies (hence the pre-purchased seats). Not too close, toward the center please. And the seats we’d reserved fit the bill. But, as it turned out, those seats should never have been available to us. They should have been reserved for wheelchair viewers and their friends/family. Why these particular moviegoers waited until the very last minute to buy their seats – I don’t know. Nor do I know what they would have done if someone with a wheelchair-bound viewer was already seated there. But hey – our take on it was just move us quickly, as the danged film had begun. Um-kay?


So we got up and followed the theatre dude toward the back of the auditorium. Then we followed him into the lobby. Then we followed him past a secured door and up some random stairs in the very bowels of the building itself. Next thing we knew, we were being shown into a private area – the “owner’s box” – and that was that. There were only 5 seats – all empty – and we were about as far up as you can get in the historic theatre. As the movie was going on without us, we just focused and tried to catch up, having missed the first couple of minutes.



At some point, I realized how isolated we were and leaned over to Mister and whispered, “We could totally do it up here!” He nodded and we both watched the rest of the film. (For reals.)


Once the movie had finished and the curtain was closing over the screen, I snapped a couple of photos. We then wound our way out, to the best of our abilities (only one wrong door!) and looked for the guy who’d re-seated us. Once we found him, we suggested our original seats be earmarked for special seating and not sold to the general public. He took the advice and told us how special our second seats had been. He said those seats are hidden and used for celebs. And always have been. I said I was glad it had worked out and that I appreciated seeing the box. Because we were nice about the whole thing – I suppose – he gave us free passes for a future flick. Mister and I walked to the subway and headed home.



It has occurred to me that the Chinese Theatre’s long history means just about any legend could have been in that box before. Think about it. Clark Gable. Charlie Chaplin. Bette Davis. Joan Crawford. I could list names all day, but the truth is I just don’t know. And I never will. It was a fluke that we ended up ever seeing those seats. A beautiful, crazy fluke.



By the way, I enjoyed the movie. Truth be told, I may have enjoyed it more than I should have – all because of my historic vantage point. What a lucky, lucky gal I am.

Hollywood Nights



The other night I was driving through Holly-weird and I saw the dangedest thang. An SUV was cruising along with a cup of coffee sitting on its back bumper. That in itself isn’t odd, but the fact that the cup stayed on the bumper for over 3 friggin’ miles was a freak-show.


When I turned to head home, that cup was still planted on the bumper. For all I know that coffee is still cruising somewhere in Los Angeles.

La-La Land



One of the cooler things about living in L.A. is the people who work in The Industry. I mean, a bona fide celebrity sighting is a kick, but so what? No, I’m not thinking about the names many of us recognize. I’m talking about the folks whose names most of us will never know, but whose work impresses the heck out of us. Yes – I refer to the artisans who work behind the scenes in film and television. These professionals not only work in our environs, they also live here. And sometimes they can’t help but bring their work home with them.


The other day I was lost driving around when I spotted an amazing “Fun House” someone built in a front yard. This was a regular old neighborhood, but it didn’t matter. An artist had put in the time and effort to construct this magnificent monstrosity for Halloween. And while the result is pretty danged cool, it isn’t terribly uncommon. Hollywood pros build these sorts of things at their homes fairly regularly. Some are gi-normous, others not so much. When I happen upon one of these displays of love, I am always amazed.


This particular structure’s tenure has now ended. It will be deconstructed and that will be that. The yard will once again be an ordinary yard and most of us won’t think twice about who might live at that house. We won’t wonder if the resident is an artist or not. We probably won’t notice anything at all as we pass by.


Until next year…


True Dat, Troy




I spotted this sidewalk graffiti in Hollywood and snapped the pic. It made me smile and all I could think was, true dat, Troy. True dat.


Here’s to living.